


Haunted

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Ghost Stories, Halloween, Hotel, M/M, Sharing a Room, Violence related in ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8443279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: Halloween night staying in a haunted hotel, what else can you do but tell ghost stories in the bar.My contribution to Halloweenlock 2016.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [May_Shepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/May_Shepard/gifts).



“Come on Sherlock.” John urges.

“This is juvenile.” He replies.

“No, it’s traditional. Come on, it’s Halloween. Come and join us.”

“And tell ridiculous “ghost” stories?”

“Yes. Come. On.” John says tugging on his arm.

\---------------------------

They are staying at a rather posh country hotel which is widely rumoured to be haunted. They are staying there along with Greg, Anderson, Sally and a few other officers that they have never met before. The case is concluded, but it was late when the uniformed officers had finally led the culprit who had been stealing from the hotel away. The thankful owners had offered them all rooms for the night, which they had accepted gratefully. The idea of spending the evening in the warm bar around the fire being infinitely more appealing than the prospect of spending two hours travelling through the cold fog outside to get home.

They all settle in the bar and after a few rounds of drinks Anderson decides that he should kick off the evening’s storytelling. “My Gran died when I was about 8. A few weeks later it was my sister’s birthday party and my dad took some photos. This was obviously in the days when you had to put film in cameras and then take them to be processed so it took a couple of weeks for my dad to get the pictures back from the chemist’s. One of the photos of my sister’s party had a weird glow about it, and there, right in the middle between my Mum and my Sister was my Gran smiling at us. She always loved a party, she must have come along.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and says disdainfully. “It is obvious that was a double exposure. The film failed to move on after a photo of your Grandmother was taken and then the photo at the party was exposed over the top.”

Anderson looks offended and retorts “Go on then. You tell one if you’re so clever.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “John is the story teller. He can tell the next one.”

John smiles warmly at him. Probably more warmly than normal due to the rather good whisky he has been drinking.

“When I did my army training part of it was trauma medicine for military related injuries, and the teaching hospital where I trained has been in use for nearly two hundred years. It was Halloween night, the lads were going to a party in the mess but I stayed late in the classroom going over some details of a new surgery technique to….well the details aren’t important. Anyway. It was almost 10:30 and I was the only one in that wing of the building. I was just packing up my books, I thought I would head back and maybe catch the end of the party, then I heard a sound from the corridor outside, sort of a creaking groaning noise. I went to see if someone was there, a cleaner maybe, but there was no one there. I went back to finish packing my things and heard the noise again, so I checked the corridor and the next classroom but that was empty. I went back to pick up my bag and when I got there at the far side of the room there was a solider dressed in a uniform that must have been from at least a hundred years ago. His face was ghostly white with blood over one side from a massive head injury, there was mist all over the floor of the room and blood on the desk where I had been studying. He limped towards me groaning, I grabbed my bag and ran out of there as fast as I could. My tutor told me the next day that it must have been the ghost of one of the young soldiers who died in the building and that he had been seen roaming the classrooms many times.”

Sally gives a shiver as John finishes his tale, then turns pointedly towards Sherlock. “Your turn, go on.”

Sherlock huffs, takes a sip of his whisky then sighing says “If I must. This is a story that the children in my home village would tell. Something of a local legend about a curse on the local woods.”

“You mean other children actually talked to you?” Sally asks with a sneer.

“Yes. Thank you Sally that’s enough of that.” Greg says firmly, giving her a look that shows he means business.

Taking a deep breath Sherlock continues “Anyway. In the Eighteen hundreds there was a Lord Barnes who lived in the manor house and owned the associated surrounding land. He had two sons, the eldest Michael was twenty five, and the younger son William was eighteen. Lord Barnes was in poor health and he had made it known that all of his inheritance was to go to the oldest son. William was expected to join the priesthood and he was very soon due to go away to the seminary. William was unsurprisingly unimpressed at the prospect of wasting his life on such tomfoolery and living in poverty, while his brother lived the high life in the manor. Not to mention spending his life in celibacy whilst Michael enjoyed all of the carnal pleasures of being married to his wife Anne, who William was secretly lusting after.”

“This is the way children told the story to you is it?” John teases, gently elbowing Sherlock in the ribs.

Sherlock looks at him sideways and concedes “I may be embellishing slightly.”

“Get to the scary bit.” Anderson demands, slurring his words as he fights not to spill the remains to his fifth glass.

Rolling his eyes Sherlock continues “So William made a plan (that is how the story goes, I would point out that this is absolutely NOT a plan). He lured his brother to the woods with some nonsense about reliving their childhood before he went away, and then attacked him with a meat cleaver from the kitchen, managing to almost sever his head in the process. He then pretended that they had been attacked by a mystery assailant. All plans for him to join the clergy were immediately forgotten, he became the heir to the estate, and rather conveniently married Anne a year later. Which goes to show that the police were just as incompetent then as they are now, given that he had clear motive, opportunity and had used a weapon from his own house that had no business being in the woods.”

John chuckles to himself at this outburst against law enforcement, but a glance around the table shows the police officers to be less impressed, they all had looks of varying degrees of annoyance on their faces, although Greg’s was verging more on the indulgent than annoyed.

“Anyway, Anderson will be pleased to hear that the story does not end there. Here comes the “scary bit”. It is said that Michael with his dying breath issued a curse against younger brothers. Ever since that day any younger brother who has ventured into those woods has been met with the sight of the bloodied corpse of Michael, his head almost hanging off, who will chase them and only stop at the edge of the tree line. There are tales of boys only narrowly escaping his clutches, and rumours of many a young boy who went in and was never seen again.”

“Hmm, that’s ok I suppose.” drawls Sally, but let me tell you the one about the poltergeist living in the flat upstairs when I grew up…..

\--------------------------

Later that evening, the others have gone to bed and it is just John and Sherlock remaining. They have moved to some armchairs by the fire in the cosy bar. They have both had a little too much whisky and when Sherlock tries to look calculatingly at John it actually comes off as more a tired squint, “You don’t really believe that was a ghost you saw do you?”

John chuckles, although the alcohol makes it more of a giggle. “No. Of course not. It was Bill, the bastard, dressed up in a uniform he stole from the museum display room. Him and some of the lads decided to teach me a lesson for bailing on our night out. I did run out of the room, then halfway down the corridor realised what they had done and went right back and got him in a choke hold until he told me who had helped him.”

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes then John smiles over to Sherlock and says “It was Mycroft who told you that story wasn’t it?”

Sherlock smiles back “Of course it was. Who else would I have been trading ghost stories with?”

“He was trying to keep you out of the woods wasn’t he?”

Sherlock slumps further into his chair and replies “Hmm, a rather misguided attempt. He was 15 and likely thought he was helping my mother by stopping me wandering away from the gardens and into the woods. He clearly hadn’t thought it through.”

John gives him a fond look, “You went in looking for the ghost didn’t you?”

Sherlock gives a rather wobbly nod. “I decided that maybe I hadn’t seen it yet because I had only been there in daylight. I packed a bag and stayed there for almost 48 hours. I heard everyone calling for me, but I was determined to see this ghost for myself so I hid in the bushes. I was most disappointed at the lack of paranormal activity, although I did find a dead fox that I attempted to dissect with some sharpened sticks, so that slightly made up for it. Mummy nearly fainted when I reappeared at the kitchen door covered in blood.” Sherlock stretches and smiles to himself at the reminiscence, while John just giggles and grins at him.

Another few moments pass as they both stare into the fire then John heaves himself out of his chair to fetch more whisky from the bar. On the way past he steadies himself with a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and they share a long glance into each others eyes. On the return trip he places Sherlock’s drink on the small table beside his chair and pats his knee firmly.

They sip their whisky, both slumping down, their legs stretching out until their calves are touching. Sherlock licks a few drops of whisky from his lips and John finds himself staring at the pink tongue and mirroring his actions.

“You didn’t question my story until the others had left.” John states staring intently.

“You didn’t tell them that it was Mycroft who told me the story.” Sherlock states equally deadpan.

“We do make a good team don’t we?” John asks, licking his lips once again and flexing his leg to press a little more firmly against Sherlock’s calf.

“Hmmm.” Sherlock hums in reply, “Just the two of us against the rest of the world.”

“You know they say this place is haunted?” John enquires with false nonchalance. 

“Really?” Sherlock teases, he had after all been the one to tell John this before they checked in.

“Actually the man at the front desk said that my room is the most haunted one in the building.”

“Oh?” Sherlock raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah. Wanna come stake out with me to see it?” John asks, he leans forward as he does and places his hand on Sherlock’s knee, giving a firm squeeze which turns into more of a caress.

Sherlock gasps then grabs a handful of John’s jumper bringing them closer until they are nose to nose. “Yes.” He says so quietly it is almost a breath.

They stand as quickly as it is possible to given their blood alcohol levels and wend their way around the tables to leave the bar and make their way upstairs.

\-----------------

 

The two men spend the rest of the night locked in John’s room, and given the moaning and groaning noises coming from within we can only conclude that they must have found their very vocal ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> So there is my submission for Halloweenlock 2016, only one day late :-) 
> 
> Thank you May Shepard for prompting this challenge.


End file.
